Meet the new Turtle…

In February 2012 Turtle Canyon Media expands its borders to Seattle. An exciting development for Al, Nick and Stu but a completely life-changing one for the US Director. Victoria Ramon is moving her entire life from the east to the west coast and is doing so in the hope and belief that a successful production company can be established in the birthplace of Starbucks, Nirvana and Frasier. This is what she has to say…

An awkward moment for all the Turtles

I had been searching for “The Truth”, with two capital Ts, long before I even knew about The X-Files and Fox Mulder’s quest.

The truth is, the first time I came across the show, I was flipping through the channels and an image of a slowly decaying body appeared and I, then again, flipped the channel while thinking to myself, “Why would anyone watch this?” and “Fox Mulder is such a weird name.”

By the time I was thirteen, I had come to the decision that it, “The Truth”, wasn’t in Maine and that I would have to go looking for it elsewhere. I didn’t know what it was but I knew it wasn’t in my front yard, or even my neighbor’s back yard. It wasn’t at school, or at work, and it certainly wasn’t at church or at the Rollerdrome, but I had a sneaking suspicion that it might be in New York City.

I didn’t really have any facts to support my theory but I knew that adventure often requires danger and my family made sure to remind me of how unsafe the city was every time I’d start to daydream. Maine was safe and Maine was where they claimed to have found their “The Truth”, and if it was good enough for them, it was good enough for me.

It was exactly two years ago when I awoke to feeling a strong dislike for everything and everyone except for my cat, Watson. It wasn’t a discriminating dislike similar to how I’ve felt when someone offers me cauliflower, but an all enveloping blanket that sucked the color out of everything once it came into contact. The minute something would come into my line of sight, it might as well have been scratching my cornea and I would have to resist the urge to cringe and snicker. I’d had enough with my tolerance for unhappiness and stagnancy and I was finally going to do something about it.

So I went into work. I know, not exactly the type of rebellion one would expect but what can I say? I like people to like me and calling in and quitting was no way to stay in the high regard of my sixty something year old boss. She was always buying me muffins and inviting me over to her house and I didn’t want that guilt. Plus, I didn’t know exactly what I was going to do yet.

After working up the courage, which involved rocking side to side in an office chair for about an hour while she complained about an employee who stole a used toaster, I gave her my two weeks notice and told her I was moving to New York City. I had just decided. She was surprised and disappointed but not so much that she tried hard to talk me out of it. This, if I had to wager a guess, was because of my hot pink hair. I don’t mean that it was sexy by any means; it’s just that it was bright neon pink and it was against company policy.

Not three weeks before, I had spent two days getting my dreadlocks (which were not against company policy if kept neat) combed out by six beauty school students. They went at my rat’s nest all at once for over four hours each day. I would like to point out that even though most girls like to have their hair played with and brushed, this was not pleasant. I can’t even describe it. If dogs could speak English, I would ask one to explain it. I suspect that it’s not dissimilar to having one obnoxious child repeatedly pull on your tail and then multiplying that by six. Cue the dull pain and dramatic wincing tempered by the knowledge that I had done all this to myself. Only then to, two weeks later, bleach my hair blond and then dye it hot pink after a resounding consensus that I looked terrifying. But I digress…

The truth is, she probably didn’t spend too much time talking me out of it because she knew that I had made up my mind and that I am stubborn. This is a trait that I received mostly from my mother. My mother knows that I am stubborn and she smirks with pride every time she accuses me of being such.  My dad is only stubborn because he is still married to my mother. So with a shrug and warning about the homeless, pickpockets, and a mention of that one time she went bankrupt, my boss gave me her blessing and I went home to browse Craigslist for a job in the city.

Maine - New York

I had been thinking about living in New York City for over ten years by this point. I never liked Maine. I thought it was boring and uncultured (not the official opinion of the Turtles – Ed). This somewhat narrow viewpoint was only reinforced by the stretches of farmland that I would encounter on my way to and from work every day. You know… because milk is just uncultured cheese but contrarily, an uncultured person is just plain cheesy. (Wow – Ed)

Suddenly, ten years of pondering, pining, and whining collided with one email in response to an online job posting, one phone interview the next morning, and one call to say that I was hired, that very same night. I’d say it was meant to be, if I believed in that sort of thing.

The truth is, sometimes I do.

Now only another two years later, almost the same thing has happened. I was ready for change and change landed in my lap not unlike it often does to the homeless on 7th Avenue. I suppose that’s somewhat fitting because I sleep on a couch and I am not really sure what home feels like. (Not to imply that I have it nearly as hard as a homeless person.)

New York - Seattle

Somehow my search for “The Truth” has led me to Seattle. I will be moving there in February to work for Turtle Canyon Media. I am excited and scared but very thankful and ready. I wonder what I will find out there.

The truth is, The X-Files will probably always be my most favorite thing in the world and I still think Fox Mulder is a weird name. But I can’t judge. Try saying my full name five times fast: Victoria Maria Ramon. The truth is, you probably can’t even say it once.



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